


do you trust me?

by Trickster88



Series: i started a joke that started the whole world crying [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Irondad, Panic Attacks, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, Whumptober 2019, pinned down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 16:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21376741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickster88/pseuds/Trickster88
Summary: “Ow!” Peter’s voice climbs an octave, shocked out of the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack. Tony’s forehead is still pressed against his own, the only real way Tony can comfort him. Peter manages to wiggle his hand up enough to push at Tony’s face, and the man pulls back, eyeing him seriously. “What was that for!”“It got your attention, didn’t it?”“You can’t justheadbutt me.”*Written for the prompt 'pinned down' for Whumptober 2019.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: i started a joke that started the whole world crying [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502663
Comments: 35
Kudos: 461





	do you trust me?

**Author's Note:**

> It's not Whumptober anymore but uhhhh I do what I want!!! Fair warning that this is totally unbeta'd.
> 
> Written for the prompt 'pinned down' for Whumptober 2019.

In retrospect, maybe running into the collapsing building wasn’t his brightest idea.

It’s just that Peter has these instincts, and sometimes he can ignore them (like when Flash throws a spitball at him - it takes effort, but he can let it hit him), and sometimes he just can’t. Sometimes, he finds himself in front of the bus without really thinking about it, because he just has to catch it. There isn’t another option - he can’t just _ let the bad thing happen_.

So when Tony is hovering in front of the five-story parking deck, coordinating the team’s movements from above, and Peter’s senses scream at him to _ move move MOVE HIM RIGHT NOW _ \- there’s no other option, and Peter finds himself swinging across the space to tackle Tony out of the way before he can even consciously make the decision to do so.

The first charge blows, and Peter’s already not fast enough.

The building comes down on them, and Peter latches on to Tony’s chestplate just in time - were it anybody else, without Peter’s sticky fingers, they’d be thrown clear off. They tumble, the Iron Man suit knocking the breath out of him as they go down in a tangle of limbs and metal. 

Peter’s pretty sure he blacks out for a second there - one minute, he’s crashing down hard, clinging to Tony, metal and concrete knocking him around like a bowling pin - and the next, he’s blinking up at Tony’s panicked face hovering way too close to his own, ears ringing from what is probably a mondo-concussion.

“Kid? Kid!” Tony’s yells sound distant, and Peter shakes his head, as if to make the ringing stop (it doesn’t, and he regrets the movement an instant later with a visible wince). “Jesus, Peter, what the hell were you thinking - “

“You were - the building - ow.” Peter says dumbly, vaguely noting that Tony is bleeding, from the temple. The blood trickles down, disappearing somewhere underneath the rest of his helmet - while the faceplate has retracted, the rest of the suit still appears to be in tact.

“Yeah _ ow. _ No shit, _ ow_. I’m in a suit, Peter! A suit a helluva lot beefier than yours, that can withstand this sort of thing. You should _ not _be jumping in front of collapsing buildings!”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Peter snorts dryly, and the look on Tony’s face gets even more furious (he didn’t think that was possible but, uh. Whoops?)

“What the hell is _ that _supposed to mean?” Tony looks like he’s two seconds away from strangling him, but Peter can see the fear behind his eyes (he always looks so afraid; Peter wishes he could stop him worrying but he knows it’s a lost cause if he ever saw one.)

“It _ means _ this isn’t the first time - can you back off, a little?” Peter shifts uncomfortably, trying to sit up, but Tony shakes his head with a minute _ whirr _ of the armor. 

“No, kid, I can’t.” Tony shifts minutely, to give Peter as much space as he can, but he can’t go very far. “We’ve got about ten tons of concrete bearing down on us.”

_ Ten tons _ . No. Not thinking about it. _ We can’t get out. We can’t _ ** _get out_**_. Do we have enough air? What if we don’t have enough air for two people? What if we suffocate? What if it’s too heavy? What if they can’t get us out? What if we get crushed while we’re waiting? What if we get crushed _ ** _while_ ** _ they’re trying to dig us out? What if what if whatifwhatif - _

“I need to - I need to breathe.” Peter manages to get a hand up, fingers scrambling to push his mask up, over his mouth. Tony frowns down at him with concern, and Peter blows out a slow, shaky breath.

He’s just not going to think about the concrete on top of them. It isn’t easy, with the weight of the Iron Man suit bearing down on him - the only thing between him and being _ crushed _ \- nope, no, not going to think about it. See? Do you see him not thinking about it? He’s not.

Tony doesn’t look any less worried.

“They’ll get us out, Pete.” Tony promises quietly, and Peter cuts his gaze back up to him - not the broken concrete and plaster all around them _ nope nope nope _\- trying to focus on Tony, on his heartbeat he can hear all too clearly in the enclosed space. It’s too fast, too fluttery - is he hurt? Does it hurt him, all that weight bearing down on the suit?

_ Of course it does_, Peter thinks, because he’s held that much weight before. His muscles _ screamed _ \- of course it hurt. _ Oh God Tony was hurt _-

“I can’t. I can’t do this. I have to - I have to get out.” Peter stutters, choking on the panic, but he can’t _ move_, this isn’t like the last time, he’s _ trapped_. Tony is holding him down, he’s pinned, he can’t get his legs underneath him and push them out he can’t he can’t he _ can’t _ -

“Pete! Peter, look at me. Look at me bud, focus up.” Tony’s voice is a soothing balm through the haze of his panic, but it doesn’t help that the air is getting hot in the enclosed space, with all of the carbon dioxide Peter is expelling, breathing in and out too hard, too fast. It just heightens the feeling of being _ trapped_, with nowhere to go, no more air to be had - they’re going to dig out _ bodies _ \- 

“Peter!” Tony’s voice is sharp, and the Iron Man helmet retracts - for a split-second, Peter thinks everything is going to come down on top of them even more - and then, well. 

Tony headbutts him.

“Ow!” Peter’s voice climbs an octave, shocked out of the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack. Tony’s forehead is still pressed against his own, the only real way Tony can comfort him. Peter manages to wiggle his hand up enough to push at Tony’s face, and the man pulls back, eyeing him seriously. “What was that for!”

“It got your attention, didn’t it?” 

“You can’t just _ headbutt me_.” Peter splutters, and Tony raises an eyebrow - he has a red spot on his forehead, and Peter’s too bewildered to laugh. Even though it’s kind of funny (it has no business being that funny. Tony is _ ridiculous_.) 

“Hey.” Tony tries again, voice lowering into something a little more gentle. “I’m here, kid. You’re going to be okay. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout,” Peter refutes accusingly, but it lacks bite. Tony smiles and it doesn’t reach his eyes (he always looks so _ worried _ where Peter is concerned, and he hates that he’s the cause), but he chuckles under his breath and nods anyway.

“No, can’t say that I was. You got me there.” He tilts his head a little, still studying Peter’s face for any more signs of panic. “You good?”

“No,” Peter admits, flexing his fingers - he still can’t move, can’t get up off his back, like he’s a turtle or something. He can’t help but wonder if it feels like an iron tomb to Tony, locked inside the suit. “No this is - kind of my worst nightmare.”

“Okay,” Tony says smoothly, keeping his voice calm. Peter closes his eyes, letting out another slow breath. “That’s a pretty reasonable nightmare. Better than any of mine. Tighty-whities at a board meeting, you know, a classic. Snakes on a plane. A ham sandwich with no mustard.”

Peter huffs out a soft laugh, feeling something in his chest ease, at least a little. He knows that’s not true - that Tony probably has nightmares worse than Peter does, ones that keep him up for days on end - but the attempt at distraction is nice. It’s kind.

“I’m trying not to think about it. But I can’t - I can’t stop.” Peter hates how small his voice sounds, and he grits his teeth, refusing to open his eyes, but he can _ feel _ how trapped they are - how stale the air is, now, how he can’t hear anything but the broken pipes buried somewhere to their left - but nothing from above, nothing from their comms, which are buzzing with low static. They wouldn’t know if someone was coming for them - and they wouldn’t know if someone _ wasn’t _coming for them. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Tony assures him. “Have you tried thinking about something else?”

“Something else?” Peter repeats dumbly, and he can feel Tony nod, even if he doesn’t see it.

“You can’t just tell yourself to _ not _think about something. You have to give your brain something else to focus on. So...think about something, anything. Think about May.”

“Uh.” Peter’s a little thrown by the suggestion. His brow furrows, eyes still closed, and he tries to conjure May’s face. Soft brown hair framing those big, bug-eye glasses she’s had since forever. The sound of her laugh, the scent of her strawberry shampoo - the kind she insisted on getting from the Korean beauty store on the corner. The old Korean ladies pinched his cheeks every time he went in there to buy it for her, and gave him sweet rice cookies. 

“What about Ned?” Tony prompts gently, and May’s face morphs into Ned’s in his mind’s eye. Peter can still feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest, but it feels like it’s getting a little easier to breathe.

Ned - his big, toothy smile. A variety of hats that would have looked dumb on anyone else (Peter could _ never _pull them off, he’s never even thought about trying), but Ned, he always looks good. Dauntless enthusiasm, his unapologetically nerdy best friend. Ned gave the best hugs in the world, and he was never shy about it - tackling Peter after a Decathlon match, patting him vigorously on the back and shouting excitedly.

“And that girl you were telling me about, Pete?”

MJ is pretty. She’s _ so pretty_. Peter can’t help the way his heart flutters when she looks in his direction, and he knows that’s stupid - knows she’d probably call him out for being a total dork, but he doesn’t care because he knows she’d be smirking (as close to a smile as he can ever get out of her, but _ that’s just MJ_) while she does. She’s smart, so much smarter than he is and he doesn’t mind at all, he _ likes it_; her humor is like a finely-tuned whip, witty without even trying (even though she is trying, they all are; they’re teenagers, bumbling awkwardly through adolescence, but MJ is sweet and soft despite her prickly exterior - )

“Oh.” Peter says quietly, opening his eyes. The lenses of his mask shift to adjust to the light again, and he finds Tony watching him, trying not to let the worry show (it _ always shows_, but this time it makes Peter feel warm, makes him feel...touched, that Tony cares) - and Peter’s breathing has slowed. His heartbeat is still a little quick, but it doesn’t sound like a runaway train anymore.

“You good?” Tony asks again, and this time Peter nods. They’re still trapped but - but he feels okay. He’s okay.

“Yeah. Thanks. Thank you.” Tony’s mouth quirks, as if to say, _ don’t thank me, kid_. Peter smiles back, just a tiny one, but it’s something. “I’m sorry I’m - kind of useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Tony shakes his head, looking at Peter seriously. “You’re _ Spiderman_, kid, you’re not useless.”

“Yeah,” Peter repeats slowly. “Spiderman. I’m Spiderman.”

_ I’m _ ** _Spiderman_**.

“I have an idea.” 

Tony tsks, shaking his head again. A bit of rubble crumbles down, dusting into the man’s hair, making it chalky, a mimicry of grey yet to come. “Am I correct in assuming from your tone that I’m not going to like this plan?”

“Not at all.” Peter confirms, hint of a grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. “But it’ll work.”

“Lay it on me, Spiderling.” Peter can almost see the gesture Tony would have made if he could move his arms. Instead of answering, Peter wiggles, shifting the Iron Man suit inch by inch - he gets the rest of his arm free, pressing his fingertips to the flat concrete next to Tony’s face. Tony raises an eyebrow questioningly, and Peter can see the pistons in his brain firing a mile per minute.

“I can get us out.” Peter tries to project confidence in his voice, despite the fact that Tony just helped him down from a panic attack. “I need you to retract the suit.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Tony points out, and for once, Peter thinks he might have surprised him. “The suit is kind of the only thing holding this building up.”

“Tony,” Peter uses his free hand to pull his mask down, back over his mouth. “I can get us out. I can lift it.”

“You can _ lift _this?” Tony looks dubious, but Peter nods once, firm. “Peter…”

“Do you trust me?”

Tony stares at him for a long moment. Peter blinks, lenses adjusting, and finally, Tony nods. “How do we do this?”

“Count of three.” Peter puts his hand back up on the flat piece of concrete, his other arm pinned somewhere beneath Tony’s chestplate. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Tony has the briefest hesitation in his eyes - but he’s ready. He’s decided to trust Peter, and Peter tries to let it fill him with confidence. “One, two - “

Tony retracts the suit, nanobots crawling back into the housing unit quickly, and Peter feels it as the rubble begins to bear down on them. He strains to hold it up with one arm and, as soon as he has enough leverage to do so, uses his other arm to flip Tony over. Positions reversed, the weight of the building rests on Peter’s shoulders.

Tony’s eyes are wide - there’s nothing between him and the ten tons of twisted metal and brick but Peter - but Peter manages to get one foot underneath himself, his other knee driving into the ground. 

“Come on,” Peter mutters to himself - he can do this. This isn’t like last time - he’s not hurt, not terrified, and he’s _ not alone_. He can do this. “Come on _ Spiderman_.”

“Yeah,” Tony clears his throat, and Peter thinks he sees something like awe in Tony’s eyes. _ Pride_. “Come on, Spiderman. You’ve got this.”

Peter strains, pushing up - he gets up onto both feet. There still isn’t enough space for Tony to sit up, but he’s getting there. Peter yells, grits his teeth so hard it feels like his jaw might pop, and _ pushes_.

The rubble shifts; Peter can feel it as the raw strength surges through his muscles - strength he doesn’t often tap into, strength he usually tries to control, to be careful - but this pushes him to his limits. 

Sunlight filters down through the chunk Peter’s lifted, and he lifts it up over his head, creating enough room for Tony to get up. The man does, slowly, carefully, as if one wrong move could bring it all down on their heads. 

“Get out.” One look at Tony tells him that’s not going to happen. The man shakes his head - there’s no way he’s leaving Peter here holding up a building. “Tony, you have to climb out. I can - “

“Eight ball says no way in Hell,” Tony cuts him off, running a hand through his hair. He can’t activate the suit again - there just isn’t enough space. Peter’s not sure how long he can hold it.

“I’ve got it.” Tony says suddenly, and Peter can practically see the lightbulb going off over his head. Tony unlatches the webshooter from Peter’s wrist, moving to clasp it around his own. 

“What are you doing?” Peter asks, breathless with exertion. Tony eyes him seriously.

“Do you trust me?”

Peter only hesitates for the briefest second - he nods, and Tony calibrates the web setting with a quick turn of the dial. “Count of three.” 

Tony nods, turning towards the light. Something in his jaw is tight, determined. And Peter doesn’t feel afraid.

He shoots the web, which latches onto something outside with a wet _ thwap_. Tony tugs on the line once, testing the durability. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Peter takes a deep breath, shoulders flexing. “One, two - “

Tony yanks on the web, and Peter latches on to him, letting go of the concrete. Tony’s aim proves true, and they narrowly make it out before the hole Peter created closes, caving in with an unforgiving crash.

They land hard - Peter shoots another web as soon as they’re free enough, swinging them to the ground as he clumsily counters their momentum. Peter manages to torque them so he takes the brunt of the fall, protecting Tony as much as he can. Tony coughs and rolls over, flat on his back, staring up at the sky. Peter settles next to him, exhausted. 

“Let’s not do that again,” Tony jokes with a soft wince, rubbing a hand over his face. Peter pulls his mask up over his mouth, reveling in the fresh air.

“Yeah, I think I’m good.” Tony laughs, free and honest, and Peter smiles. He wants to bottle that sound and keep it in his memories, right next to May and Ned and MJ. Tony lifts a hand, offering a fist, and Peter slowly meets it with his own gloved one, bumping it. 

“Good work, Spiderman.”

And for once, Peter can’t help but agree.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my writing blog at [thwip--thwip](http://thwip--thwip.tumblr.com) for more debatably decent content.  
[Rebloggable link](https://thwip--thwip.tumblr.com/post/188941038875/do-you-trust-me) <3
> 
> Comment if you liked it! Love you all 3000.


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